Rhythm and Rush
by SearchingForMercury
Summary: A (short) story that follows Gilbert and his dad's lives as an elementary student and a college professor. Written for arschbiene on tumblr because her artwork is lovely.


The ocean was a dimpled mess. Darkened bits mixing with the spots of reflected sunlight, like pieces of broken glass. Clouds were rolling in from the horizon - big, fluffy, and dark. There would be a storm for sure, later. They were going to have to travel with caution. Gilbert shouted at his men to be prepared, he was turning the ship. The wood creaked and a wind filled out his clothes. He could smell the adventure.

"Land ho!" he shouted and pointed to the very obvious mountain that had emerged from the water.

Antonio jumped off.

"Not yet!" Gilbert protested. "You're in the water now! You're gonna drown!"

"Oh," Antonio said, looking at the patch of ground by his feet, at the bottom of the playground set. "Oops. Ah! I'm drowning!" He waved his arms about and puffed up his cheeks like he was holding his breath.

Francis took a dainty step forward. "He's definitely dead," he said. "A goner." His hair glinted gold in the afternoon sun.

"Oh, get out of my way," Arthur muttered, heavy eyebrows set in a frown. He shoved Francis to the side and hopped down. "I can swim!"

"No you can't," Francis replied. He leaned on the rail to watch him. "I've seen you."

"Well, I can for this!" Arthur snapped and pretended to swim out to Antonio. "We're not actually pirates either."

"I'm a knight!" Gilbert said loudly from his position at the wheel. He puffed out his chest at the thought.

"You can't be a knight!" Arthur shouted. He and Tony climbed up the ladder. "Your armor would be too heavy! We'd sink!"

Francis and Antonio looked at Gilbert.

"Yeah, well," Gilbert said and hesitated. "I've seen them in books! And what about the treasure?"

"That's what I mean, we need room for the treasure," Arthur said. "And not everything in books is real."

"You're no fun," Gilbert muttered, hitting the wheel. He watched it spin for a moment before looking back up at Arthur. He imagined his anger was being forced out of his eyes and that Arthur would _feel_ it. But Arthur just stared back. "What's the point in playing pretend when you can't _pretend_ anything?" He was about to suggest another game, something that didn't involve Arthur, when he heard somebody shout his name.

"It's dinnertime! Get inside!"

Gilbert loved it when his dad called for him like that. Ludwig hated it, but that was only because the neighbors knew what they were doing at any given time thanks to it. They lived in an apartment and Gilbert liked to think the neighbors got mad; it made him snicker and think things like, "they deserve it." He wasn't very fond of upstairs with their clangs on the piano or the way nobody liked to answer the phone in the unit right next to them.

Gilbert turned to the others, his mood infinitely brighter. "Well, gotta go!" he said.

He was already on the ground running by the time anybody responded, and it was just Francis going, "Now what?"

Down the hill, on the sidewalk, and a sharp turn later, Gilbert burst through the doors to their apartment building. His thudding footsteps echoed up the staircase and his sneakers squeaked at every turn. For some reason it always smelled like paint or something wet. He wasn't sure. But the smell disappeared once he entered the warmth of Unit 5 - aka: home.

"What's for dinner?" he asked, mouth already watering. It smelled like something fried and layered in seasoning.

"Bratwurst," his dad replied, putting plates on the table.

"What kind?"

"Beer," his dad said and gave him a look. "Come help set the table." He turned and bellowed, "Ludwig! I told you to come here!"

Gilbert went to hunt for silverware, finding them in the dishwasher. His parents were divorced and he had to explain what that meant a number of times to different classmates. It meant his mom lived somewhere else with his other brothers, something Gilbert was secretly happy about because Henry had always been kind of a butt.

Ludwig came out of his room just as their dad was putting various dishes on the table. The bratwursts were in a flat, round dish and something weird, goopy, and green was in one of the bowls. He was relieved to see another bowl had mashed potatoes, but the green stuff. The _green stuff_. His dad put it on his plate.

He spent the entire meal purposefully avoiding it. He even made a little dent in it, filled it up with some mashed potatoes and the end piece to a bratwurst and decided it was a potato lake with a boat. Potato lakes would be cool, he thought, nodding to himself.

"Gilbert," his dad said.

He looked up.

"Eat your spinach."

Gilbert stared at the green stuff like it could magically walk off his plate or something. He wished they had a dog. Ludwig wanted a dog. _He_ wanted a dog. It was a mystery why they still didn't have one. But if they did, he would feed it his spinach and it would be gone and he wouldn't have to endure whatever it must taste like; which was horrible, he was sure.

"Gilbert," his dad said with a little more force into the word. His name. He felt like it put a pressure on his shoulders and he didn't like it.

"But I don't wanna," he muttered. He didn't want his dad to hear him, yet he did at the same time.

His dad sighed and lowered his fork. "It's just spinach. Popeye eats it," he said. "You want to be strong like Popeye, right?"

Gilbert considered this. "But Popeye talks funny."

"You aren't going to _be_ Popeye. Just strong like him," his dad continued.

Gilbert looked up, hoping his expression would convey just how much he didn't want to eat it. But it didn't work. His dad was still staring at him with the same sort of expression he gave when Gilbert didn't understand his math homework. But his dad was eating the spinach and he had big, big arms and Gilbert had seen him lift a couch before. Lifting couches could be cool.

"Okay," he said, and scooped some onto his fork. It was in his mouth and down his throat faster than Popeye could open a can, probably. But not fast enough, for Gilbert immediately washed away the slimy feeling with his apple juice. But he had done it. He felt braver than the knights he had read about in school, the ones who sat at round tables.

Ludwig had been watching him and, with sudden gusto, ate all of his spinach too.

After dinner came ice cream and then bed. Their dad read to them a story about a princess in a pomegranate, kissed them both on the forehead, and clicked off the light. Gilbert shared a bunk bed with Ludwig, so of course they were in the same room. This meant having to close his eyes and face the wall because his brother couldn't sleep without a light plugged in near the bed. It felt like forever and a half before Gilbert managed to drift off and when he did, it was to the soft patter of rain against his window.

* * *

Karl Beilschmidt was a patient man. It was a simple statement, but most people didn't know exactly what that entailed. Gilbert had trapped himself in the closet - or locked himself in, he didn't really know - and was shouting that he would dress himself that day. The last time he did that, Karl was late to work for having to tug him out of his fuzzy Angry Bird pajama bottoms. And then Ludwig couldn't find his box of writing utensils. They spent more than ten minutes looking for it, only to find it behind the TV along with a few of Gilbert's toy soldiers.

Being patient wasn't as easy as most would think. After he had removed Gilbert from the closet, yanked a pair of jeans on him, a t-shirt with dinosaurs print, and some socks that Gilbert swore were clean, Karl pulled both boys in the bathroom. He tilted Gilbert's head up to peer inside his open mouth, scrubbing at it with a toothbrush.

Gilbert started making a gurgling noise and so Karl let him spit into the sink.

"I can brush my own teeth!" Gilbert protested.

"We don't have time," Karl replied. His mind clock was telling him they had only minutes before someone was bound to be late.

"But my neck hurts!"

"Too bad."

Ludwig was next and, unlike his brother, didn't put up a fuss. He was a quiet child and Karl often worried he wouldn't make friends so easy when he left kindergarten.

He rushed them out of the apartment, having already checked the stove and bathrooms, and locked the door behind them. Gilbert climbed into his car seat while Karl helped Ludwig into his. With them both strapped in, he started the car. A glance at the digital clock told him he was still within range of getting there on time.

It was when they were at a stoplight did he hear the sniffling. He glanced in the rearview mirror and sure enough, Ludwig was crying. But he was trying to keep quiet about it. Gilbert was staring out the window, his mind somewhere else.

"What's wrong Ludwig?" Karl asked. The light turned green.

Gilbert turned to look at his brother.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong?" Gilbert asked, leaning over. "Why are you crying?"

At having been discovered, Ludwig didn't try to stay so quiet. "I don't wanna go to school," he said. He sniffed again.

"There are some tissues in your backpack, Gilbert," Karl said. "Go get them. Why don't you want to go to school?"

"I just don't," Ludwig said. "It's boring and nobody talks to me except this stupid guy."

On any normal occasion, Karl wouldn't have let him get away with calling someone else stupid.

"Is he being mean?" Gilbert asked, his tone dark and serious. Karl had to look into the mirror again just to see what kind of expression he had. Gilbert had a wad of tissues pressed up against Ludwig's face. "I will beat him up if he's mean."

"No, no you won't," Karl said.

"Nobody messes with my little brother," Gilbert said.

"Yes, but you aren't going to beat anybody up," Karl said.

There was the sound of plastic as Gilbert pulled out more tissues. "I'll be there at lunch," he whispered.

Karl sighed.

By the time they pulled up in front of the school, Ludwig had stopped crying. His face was mostly just red, but Karl carried him the entire way to his classroom. Gilbert tagged along, probably only to get a glimpse of the boy Ludwig had talked about.

"If he bothers you, tell the teacher," Karl said, smoothing down Ludwig's hair. "And if your brother comes to visit, you tell me."

"Aw man," Gilbert muttered.

Karl gave him a look that had him turning to look down the hallway.

"I'll see you both after school," he said and brought them both into a tight hug.

"You're killing me!" Gilbert wheezed, so Karl hugged him even tighter. They shared something between a smile and smirk before Karl stood up.

"Be good," he said.

"Aye, aye!" Gilbert said and saluted. Ludwig tried copying him, but his salute was more like the back of his hand pressed against his forehead.

Karl chuckled and waved.

Back in the car, he sighed, hoping he wouldn't get a phone call about Gilbert bullying a kindergarten student. Weaving around morning traffic and pedestrians who didn't know how streetlights or crosswalks worked, he thought about the coming weekend. They would be taking a trip to visit their mom and brothers, spend some time as a family. He didn't like them being apart. His kids, anyways.

When he arrived at work, he found that the tray on his door had been filled with paperwork to be corrected. He carried the load inside with him, setting it next to one of the picture frames with his family. It felt like it would be a long day.

* * *

The new boy had a stupid face. It was round and soft with too-big eyes. They were blue, but not the same blue as Gilbert's or Ludwig's. These were darker and prone to squinting a lot. His face was girly, too, and that was silly because he was a _boy_. He shouldn't have such a girly face. But when he expressed this to Lizzie, Gilbert got hit in the arm.

His name was Roderich, which was a stupidly complicated name. Most of the other kids continued to refer to him as 'the new kid,' and Gilbert refused to talk to him at all. Part of that was because he gave off this overall impression of being a complete bag of dicks, whatever that meant. His older brother Klaus had used it at the table once and got himself smacked upside the head, so it _had_ to have been bad. And that meant it was good.

The other reason was because Lizzie hadn't talked to him since the girly face incident and instead, she was hovering around pretty boy like a hummingbird around one of those fake flowers full of red syrupy stuff. His dad liked having one right outside the window and Ludwig would watch them from time to time.

"I don't _get_ her," Gilbert muttered.

"What?" Antonio asked. He had been filling in the math worksheet that was due after lunch. Multiplying was _hard_.

"Lizzie," he said. "He's not even interesting. I heard her ask what he liked to do and he said he wasn't sure. Who doesn't know what they like to do?"

"Oh," Antonio said and then turned back to his worksheet.

Francis slid over his calculator without taking his eyes off Roderich and Lizzie.

"I don't like him," Gilbert muttered.

Francis nodded, like he understood exactly what Gilbert meant, while Antonio frowned at his worksheet, scratched at his curly hair and asked, "Why?"

"Because he's stupid!" Gilbert insisted.

He didn't have time to elaborate, even so he had done so several times already, because the teacher stood up at the front of the classroom and clapped to get their attention. It was time for lunch, apparently, and that meant one thing for Gilbert. Okay, two things: eating delicious food and checking on Ludwig.

And so he discussed the stealth mission to his friends over a big sandwich, a bag of chocolate chip cookies, and an apple he failed at trying to give to his teacher. He chomped his way through it as they walked outside, edging around to the left, where the Kindergarten class had a fenced in playground. Together they sneaked along the fence and, when they couldn't stand hiding anymore, peeked over the top.

Ludwig was looking through a book in a giant beanbag chair. Nobody was bothering him.

Gilbert let out a sigh of relief and, with their mission complete, headed for their own playground.

"What should we do?" Antonio asked, eying the swings. The bigger kids usually got there first and it took forever until anyone else got a turn, so they hardly ever bothered.

"We could pick up where we left off?" Francis said, looking at Gilbert.

"Nah, they don't have the same building thing," Gilbert replied. "With the wheel. Oh, how about we search for dinosaur bones?"

Antonio's eyes got big. "Like the ones in the books?" he asked.

" _Exactly_ like the ones in the books," Gilbert said, grinning.

And so they wandered around, searching the bushes, behind the playground sets, wandering dangerously close to the big field where PE class usually took place. When they found something they thought had potential, they put it in Gilbert's lunch box. In the end, they had a mighty fine collection of smooth sticks and shiny rocks.

Recess came to an end sooner than any of them wanted. On their way inside, Gilbert spotted Lizzie. She was still with the stupid new boy, but he ignored this, prancing up to her to show him what they had collected.

"Mhmm," she said, peering inside the plastic box.

"Those aren't dinosaur bones," Roderich noted. Why he was looking when Gilbert hadn't said he _could_ , Gilbert didn't know.

"Shut up, yes they are!" Gilbert replied, pulling the lunchbox back and closing it up.

"I've been to a museum with dinosaur bones," Roderich said, lifting one eyebrow in a way that pissed off Gilbert even more. "Dinosaur bones are big. Those are a bunch of sticks."

"If I say they're dinosaur bones, then they are," Gilbert said, voice dark. If Roderich had known him, he would have known to back off.

But Roderich sighed and started walking away.

The anger added on top of the already enormous pile inside Gilbert was too much. With a snarl and shouted words he wouldn't remember later, he lunged.

* * *

Karl had just finished his own lunch when he saw the blinking red light on his phone. He had decided to eat at one of the places on campus, something called 'Spoons.' He had tried their potato soup and determined that nobody should ever, ever, _ever_ put mustard in soup - especially with potatoes. It was like a cheap, Wal-Mart brand of potato salad gone wrong.

True, it wasn't the most recommended item on the menu. But it had potatoes and he figured how bad could someone mess that up? Very bad, apparently.

He took off his coat and sat in his big, comfy chair before picking up the phone. He had brought that chair in from the library, when nobody was around to really notice the loss; professors, even tenured ones, weren't paid enough to deal with cheap chairs that dug into their backs. It had been dark and nobody really liked staying on campus at night. It had been easy. Just down a little side road, up the ramp, in an elevator and bam. It made an excellent addition to his cramped office.

The message on his phone was brief but enough to make him heave a heavy sigh.

The remaining two and a half hours of work went by relatively fast. It always did after lunch. There were a few students with questions, a lesson plan to review along with a powerpoint, and some quizzes to grade. He was ahead of the game, so to speak, and he liked it that way. He saw the other professors who fumbled with heavy books and bags, trying to rush to class because they had been so deep into grading they had forgotten to look at the clock.

He walked to his car at what he always considered a normal pace, though a colleague had once pointed out that he walked faster than some students. A few people smiled or waved, and he returned the gestures, but his mind was on the message left on his phone.

When he arrived at the elementary school, it was still being emptied. Kids wandered around with their brightly colored backpacks, looking for their parent's cars or a familiar face. A few adults were scattered around, keeping an eye on them. Karl made his way down to Gilbert's classroom, expecting his son to be sitting inside or out, but that wasn't the case.

"Mr. Beilschmidt," the teacher said upon his entrance. She had long dark hair in a ponytail over her shoulder and always had an easy smile, even when the topic of discussion wasn't so good.

"Hello," he said, nodding a bit.

She pulled out a small plastic chair for him to sit in and, as always, it made him feel ridiculous.

"Where's Gilbert?" he asked.

"With his brother," she replied. "I thought it would be best if he weren't here for this."

That was surprising. Normally she just explained what went wrong and Gilbert sat there like the guilty, yet somehow proud little boy that he was.

"He was in a fight with another boy today," she started. "It was the new student and the topic is irrelevant." It always was. "I know you've talked with him before, but that behavior isn't tolerated at this school."

"I know," Karl replied.

"He's a smart boy," she continued, smoothing out the lines on her pants. "Eager to learn, eager to please. But he has a problem with making friends."

Karl frowned. "What about those two, Tony and Frankie," he interrupted. "And Lizzie."

"Yes, but he gets into fights often and is very opinionated," she said. "He doesn't tolerate other opinions very well. This sometimes isolates him, but he doesn't like to give in. And yet he seems to feed off of the approval of others."

Karl gave a sort of hum, nodding to what she said. He wasn't sure what exactly she was getting at, Gilbert was just being himself. He always had and he wasn't a _bad_ kid. Just excitable and more than a little stubborn.

They talked for a little while more, but Karl was only paying attention to the bits that made sense. He disciplined his kids like normal - he wasn't about to try and control every aspect of their lives. He wanted to be encouraging but strict enough to where their morals weren't messed up.

He walked out of the classroom with the notion that perhaps he should watch how Gilbert plays with others and see if there really was something that could be done. Make sure that the other children's opinions were not only heard, but also considered. As he walked to the kindergarten classroom, he pondered over setting up a play date of sorts, maybe with Lizzie or his colleague's kids. They were a little younger, but maybe new faces would be good for him.

Gilbert was in command of the play house inside the room. All the stuffed animals had been taken captive and Ludwig stood at the base demanding entrance.

"Only if you can guess the secret word!" Gilbert said.

And Karl knew there was no secret word.

"Gilbert," Karl said with a sigh.

"Dad!" Gilbert said and disappeared from view. He was back on the ground in seconds.

"Let's go home," Karl said, holding his hand out for Ludwig to take. Gilbert grabbed his backpack. Together they walked to the car, both kids explaining exactly how their day had gone. And not for the first time was Karl glad they were his kids.


End file.
